how does the moon taste

to the tongue

is it the way that I recall

the water made of liquid stars

as the ice and fire I once dreamed

when dreams were like lightening

shared in the night

like the daguerrotypes 

I've held as heirlooms in the heart

souvenirs from expeditions

to the realms of galactic oasis

in places only dreams can reach

when I was renewed 

and you were my guide

and if you are the bringer 

of sweet celestial rains

then you must be the keeper

of the map to where 

the moon springs up with light

the cartographic remembrance

that the illusion is the illusion

that this could be mirage

and all the remembrance 

that I'll ever need to find

is to remember to taste

what lays already

on the tongue

that the reality I am prisoner to

is only the gravity 

of my own paradigms 

and linear definitions

and if I can taste my way back through

the secrets of the paths 

that you have shared 

to the liquid sanctuaries

hidden among the stars

then perhaps one day I will know

what it is to be the bringer 

of the rains of ancient loves

to fill the deepest wells

that nourish the quencher

of these dreams

with sacred dreams

to place upon your tongue